louder than words
by navigatethismaze
Summary: AU. In which the take-no-prisoners director of Vocal Adrenaline is not Shelby Corcoran, but the estranged mother of Blaine Anderson, the newly appointed lead of the Dalton Academy Warblers. So, when she enlists the help of her star, Jesse St. James, to reconnect with her son, they all come to find that nothing ever goes exactly as planned.
1. Chapter I

**a/n: **To some of you, this probably seems a little familiar. I posted it something like a year ago and then randomly updated about a month ago, but I've decided to kind of revamp it a little. This first chapter is pretty close to the original, but the next chapter takes a pretty different direction at the end, and the rest of the story is kind of going in a different direction that what I initially planned. So, that's why it needed a repost/revamp. So, let's try this again, shall we?

As always, I'd love to hear what ya'll think.

* * *

_Cages or wings,  
__Which do you prefer?  
__Ask the birds  
__Fear or love, baby  
__Don't say the answer  
__Actions speak louder than words_

Louder Than Words

"_So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them." _― **Sylvia Plath**

**Chapter One**

Like so many things, this mess started out simply enough.

It started because Jesse St. James was he lead of Vocal Adrenaline and Melanie Foster was his coach. Their relationship was like any between a director and their star pupil: professional, but trusting – very trusting – and it was that trust that caused Jesse to be with her that evening, watching the rest of the ensemble trickle out and watching her sit casually at the edge of the stage, waiting. It wasn't rare that Jesse stayed just a few moments after evening rehearsal to discuss the routine and how to sharpen it further – who was falling behind and needed help, who was excelling and needed to be featured, and what could have been done to challenge the team even more – but that night, she had a particular gleam in her eye, the sort that she only got when she had a new plan in mind. Melanie was just a tiny bit insane, but the best directors were, and Vocal Adrenaline wasn't the most renowned choir in the state of Ohio because they had a mentor that played it safe. So, Jesse approached her with nothing more than a muted curiosity; after all, the last time she got that look in her eye, they nearly ended up in costumes that were to be set on fire (school regulations shot that one down pretty quickly, that's for sure).

"You wanted to see me, Ms. Foster?"

She nodded, turning and rising from her perch. "I have a favor to ask of you," she said, folding her arms in front of her, "one that deviates from your responsibilities to Vocal Adrenaline."

Jesse took her in – noticed her wildly curly hair and determined stature, how she seemed so much more intense than usual; something was off. There was something about her that constantly screamed "up to something," but this was different. Melanie didn't look excited or madly creative, as she tended to when she had a number to suggest (as, when she did, it was Jesse's job to learn the music on his own first, so he could lead properly) – but, rather, she looked… on edge.

He quirked a brow, intrigued. "I'm listening."

"Do you have any big regrets?" she asked, suddenly becoming earnest. "I mean, is there a moment in your life that, if you could, you'd like to do differently?"

Jesse's first thought? _Of course not; _he wasn't the kind of person who lived with regrets, because that was _stupid, _and also for people who wanted to be stuck in the past. Plus, regrets were born from mistakes, and it was a little known fact that Jesse St. James did everything in his power to avoid making those. Hell, even when he _did_ mess up, he was loathe to admit it. Jesse had his pride to consider and – besides – that regret and nostalgia crap was a waste of time, as far as he was concerned. Several years from now, anything that happened in this town would mean absolutely nothing to him; he had better things coming and better places to be. Jonathan Larson told him to forget regret, and so he did. Completely. Life was _not _going to pass him by, just because he was trapped in the past.

However, Ms. Foster was looking at him so expectantly and she was clearly going somewhere with the whole thing, so he just said, "Of course," instead of spewing all of that out in the open. He _was_ an actor, right?

"There's this mess that I need to fix," she said. "I can't take anything back, but maybe I can at least make amends… and I need a little help."

And the thing about show choir (or, at least, a _good _show choir)? It became a sort of home to anyone who took part in it. Members spent more time at rehearsal and at each other's houses than they did their own beds, and – despite what the drama-of-the-week happened to be – loyalty was at the very heart of Vocal Adrenaline. Jesse wasn't just a part of a team, but part of a family – and that included Ms. Foster, though from a slightly more professional distance. So, this favor that made her so tense? Regardless of what it was? It was a no brainer. If Jesse was anything (other than talented), it was loyal. So, without even considering any other option, he said:

"What can I do?"

* * *

It was how he ended up at a music store in Westerville, Ohio – quite the trip from his home in Akron. The little shop was one of the few places around that actually carried some decent a cappella arrangements and, therefore, one of the few places that guaranteed an eventual run-in with Blaine Anderson, the newly appointed lead of the Dalton Academy Warblers. And okay, maybe he had to do his research, and maybe he had to pose as an employee and call the kid to inform him of an (albeit false) shipment of Katy Perry arrangements (he'd heard enough of the group to know what sort of stuff they performed)… but, hey, who needed technicalities? They were in the same place at the same time, and that was all that mattered.

Who needed clandestine when you knew how to warp the system?

So, when Blaine did come strolling in, Jesse was sure to be _accidentally_ leaning against the correct shelf, flipping through a heavy collection of Sondheim's greatest works. He waited until he saw Blaine scanning the titles and then:

"Blaine Anderson. Lead singer of the Warblers. Fancy meeting you here."

The boy in question raised his eyebrows with a smile. "Jesse St. James," he countered, "Lead singer of Vocal Adrenaline and," he pulled something off the shelf, "pretty far from home." He eyed Jesse, taking him by surprise, and then added, "Fancy meeting _you _here."

Jesse laughed, placing his own song book on the shelf and taking Blaine's right from his hands. "I saw you perform at sectionals," he said, ignoring Blaine's baffled expression and glancing over the pages of _Teenage Dream_ with a look of distaste. "You guys weren't bad, but it's nothing that couldn't be improved upon with a more profound song selection."

"You don't say…" Blaine retorted, raising his eyebrows. Jesse could practically see the gears turning, could see him trying to figure him out. It was amusing, to say the least.

"Oh, but I do, and I highly suggest you back away from the top forty before anyone gets hurt."

"Is that some sort of threat?"

"Of course not," Jesse replied with a laugh. "Just a friendly suggestion."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"It would be nice to have some worthy competition at regionals," Jesse replied with a shrug, casually placing the book of pop music back on the shelves. "It would also be a shame to see a voice like yours wasted on shallow chart toppers." With a quirk of his brow, Jesse started walking away, smoothly pulling Sondheim back from its temporary place on the shelves.

Just as expected, Blaine followed, and Jesse's lips tugged into a smirk when he heard the other boy trotting up behind him.

"What are you doing all the way out here, anyway?" Blaine asked, falling into step beside Jesse and folding his arms over his chest as they went.

"I was in the neighborhood."

"How is Wester—"

Jesse interrupted. "What do you say we take one of these for a spin?" He strolled over to a nearby piano and took a seat on the bench, not bothering to wait for an answer. "Let's see how well you hold up against the competition without your backup vocals."

"You're on," Blaine said, smiling coyly as he trotted to the edge of the piano, leaning over on his elbows. He watched Jesse flip through the score in his hand… and as Jesse's fingers finally began to move across the keys and music began to fill the room, they shared a glance before Jesse began:

"_Isn't it warm? Isn't it cozy?" _He started singing one of the most playful songs he could find in a Sondheim book, and he smiled a little as Blaine raised his eyebrows in bemusement. Of course, Jesse knew exactly what sort of person he'd been told to befriend. He remembered the way Blaine performed; how could he forget the goofball that Blaine had made himself out to be? So, it wasn't hard to decide exactly what sort of song would catch Blaine's attention. It wasn't hard to figure out that getting him to smile along would be the easiest way in. And okay, some would call it manipulative, but Jesse would much prefer musically astute, thanks. He viewed music as language… and he just so happened to be incredibly fluent in it. That was all.

He continued to sing, "side by side," then looking pointedly at the space beside him on the piano bench, _"by side."_

Blaine of course obliged, smiling already as he took his place, and Jesse was sure to slide in real close as he went on with, _"ports in a storm, comfy and cozy…"_

Blaine cut in, _"Side by side, by side."_

Jesse sang, _"Everything shines, how sweet!"_

"_Side by side…"_

"_By side."_

Blaine belted, "_Parallel lines, who meet,_" and Jesse noticed the way he just came alive, even bouncing a little as he sang, "_Everyone winks…"_(and he did)

Jesse cut in, "_Nobody's nosy," _though he did so disguising a laugh…

"_Side by side, by side…"_

"_You bring the drinks, and I'll bring the posy,"_

"_Side by side…"_

"_By side."_

Blaine actually dared to lean in a little closer. "_One is lonely and two is boring,"_ his lower lip jutting out into a hilarious pout. Jesse barely made it through, "_think of what you can keep ignoring" _without laughing at him. Together they harmonized, _"side by side, by side."_

It was strange, arranging as they went, turning an ensemble into a duet, but the fact that Blaine was keeping up was rather impressive – Jesse had to admit. It was a matter of singing around the dialogue and cutting each other off, but it was somehow working. And maybe Blaine's smile was a little infectious, because Jesse was sort of… having fun with it. His fingers practically bounced across the keys, rather than their usual elegant dance, and he was literally singing through both of their laughter. Really, he couldn't remember the last time he sang like this – if he ever had before.

"_Year after year," _Blaine jumped, "_Older and older…"_

"_Sharing a tear," _he pressed his side against Blaine's, "_lending a shoulder."_

They cycled like that for the next few sections, Blaine bouncing along and Jesse singing through a grin. And as they slowly grew an audience, they both seemed to become even more alive. Blaine even got up at a point, singing at Jesse from his previous place across the piano, bouncing on his toes and leaning forward on his elbows. Of course, Jesse ended up cutting himself off with a laugh when Blaine literally _trotted_ back to his place on the bench for the end, plopping down sideways. His back lounged against Jesse's shoulder as they returned to, "_Sharing a tear, and lending a shoulder…_"

Jesse took, _"One is impossible, two is gloomy…"_

And Blaine spun in his seat to sing, "_Give another number to me," _facing forward. Jesse saw him beam out of the corner of his eye before he bumped their shoulders together. _"Side by side."_

Jesse bumped back, rolling his eyes. _"By side."_

And then they were both chuckling, barely making it through the seemingly endless repeat, (_"side by side by side…"_) Blaine alternating between bumping Jesse and flat out bouncing, his head dropping almost to Jesse's shoulder for the final, "_by side!"_

Jesse clunked out the last note, applause seemed to come from everywhere, and the two at the piano just collapsed into their own laughter. Yeah, that'd been the most fun Jesse'd had performing in a while. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't enjoy his time with Vocal Adrenaline – because he did. It was hard _not _to bask in the spotlight and the routine and the tight choreography. But what just happened with Blaine? It was… free. Different, somehow, than it was on the stage that accepted nothing short of perfection. And Blaine was good – could use some extra training – but _very _good.

So perhaps Blaine Anderson was worth Jesse's time, arrangement with his mother or not.

"We should do that again sometime," he found himself saying.

"Yeah… we should."

And that, as they say, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship… but also, a pretty messy disaster.


	2. Chapter II

"That was the thing. You never got used to it, the idea of someone being gone. Just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking." – Sara Dessen, _The Truth About Forever_

**Chapter Two**

"You fence?"

That always seemed to be the first question anyone asked upon walking into Blaine's dorm room for the first time, probably due to the plaques and trophies that sat on the stand directly across from his door. Blaine would deny it if someone asked whether or not the placement was intentional, but he supposed that maybe it was. Call it a conversation starter. Yeah, it was a pretty self-centered one, and Blaine would never actually use that word to describe himself on the whole, but if someone was going to walk into his dorm room (which was no doubt going to be at least a little cluttered), was it so bad that he liked his accomplishments to be the thing that his guests immediately took notice of? It sure beat their eyes automatically falling upon his overflowing bookshelf, his cluttered desk, or the trashcan that he probably forgot to empty, which always seemed to be filled to the brim with crumpled papers.

It was true; Blaine Anderson strived to impress.

Anyway, not even Jesse St. James was safe from that little attention trap, so of course he asked, earning Blaine's usual (and only _slightly _contrived) bashful smile in response. It was, of course, coupled with a glance over his shoulder at the case and an attempt at a throw-away comment:

"Oh, yeah. Dalton's got a pretty impressive team."

Jesse smirked, shutting the door behind him with a _click. _"That's a nice place of honor you've got there," he said, tilting his chin in the direction of the shelf.

Blaine could feel his cheeks run warm. He managed a, "hm?"

"Placing your achievements right in the line of sight," Jesse elaborated, gesturing loosely. "It's the oldest trick in the book."

Yep, Blaine was _definitely _a delicious shade of pink.

Brushing past him and plopping down on the bed, Jesse went on. "Oh, stop," he said, a smirk once again on his face (or perhaps it just never left, _ever_; Blaine was suddenly picturing Jesse, looking smug even in his sleep). "I didn't say it was ineffective," Jesse went on. "Actually, you have successfully impressed me, Blaine Anderson. Congratulations."

Blaine paused, unable to resist a smile as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Has anyone told you that you're a bit of an arrogant jerk?"

"Not on the first date," Jesse fired.

Blaine laughed. "Yeah, I don't usually bring guys back to my room on the first date, either," he joked, going along with it.

"That's what everyone says," Jesse retorted, the glint in his eye shifting into something more playful. He even pat the space beside him on the bed as he said, "You'll get over it."

Smirking, Blaine said, "Charming," but he did plop down beside him. "Do you use that one on all the girls back home?"

"Hey, who says I'm that picky?"

Rolling his eyes, Blaine shoved Jesse's shoulder and looked over at him with an amused, yet slightly dubious expression. It wasn't like Blaine was never flirtatious and this was incredibly out of bounds for him, because neither of those things were even remotely true. He always _had_ been one to slip right into flirty duets and playful banter, to the point where the behavior had occasionally gotten him into trouble. The problem here? Instead of his usual technique – that was, the one where he didn't even realize he was flirting – there was nothing subtle about that exchange. Blaine wanted to say that it was weird and uncomfortable, but the fact was: it wasn't. Actually, it was how natural it felt that gave Blaine pause, as opposed to the other way around. He'd just met this guy and they'd already shared a public, flirtatious duet, and here they were meeting for only the second time, and already doing… whatever playful dance that was. Though, it wasn't until Blaine felt that static pull that he felt the need to step back – because, no, this was not him at all. Brakes. He needed those.

So, after the playful shove, he said: "Nice try."

Jesse shrugged, his smirk shifting into a smile and then a laugh, before he stood up. "You started the bedroom talk," he reminded Blaine with a pointed look, but he didn't push it. Instead, he gave the room another once over before ending up in front of the shelf that held Blaine's trophies, picking up a photograph that sat in a frame beside a plaque.

"I see the eyebrows are genetic."

Blaine snorted, knowing exactly what Jesse was looking at without getting up; it was a picture of Blaine and his dad, at one of the only competitions the elder Anderson actually made it to. To be fair, it wasn't like his father was totally unsupportive, just… a little absent these days. Of course, somewhere deep down, Blaine was perfectly aware that his distance had nothing to do with him and everything to do with his dad's hectic work schedule (he _was _a doctor with a steady job at Westerville's general hospital). Though, that didn't keep him from the slight twinge of bitterness that came with not having anyone at his competitions – for fencing _or _glee club. After all, his dad may have just been tied up at work, but his mother actually _was _absent. Blaine hadn't seen her since before his terrible twos – and that wasn't exactly a time he had the strongest memories of… or, you know, _any. _Blaine probably wouldn't even know her if he passed her on the street, given that his father didn't even keep old pictures around. In fact, Blaine was half-convinced that his dad had burned every last one.

So, yeah, he knew exactly what picture Jesse was talking about, because it was one of the few that he actually treasured.

Regardless, he joked, "Yeah, they've been passed down for generations."

Jesse smiled and put the picture back down, his eyes raking the room as if he were actually looking for something, even though Blaine couldn't imagine that being the case. His eyes eventually trailed back to Blaine's face, though, before he opened his mouth again.

"For someone that prizes those family heirlooms so much," he said, gesturing with a smirk in the general direction of Blaine's face, "you don't have many family portraits lying around."

Blaine chuckled. "You don't think the genetic evidence is enough of a reminder?" he asked, shooting Jesse a playful smile. "Who says I have much family to photograph?"

"All right, Orphan Annie," Jesse retorted to Blaine's chagrin, smirking from his side of the room. Pointedly, he looked back at the shelf (and presumably the picture) when he asked, "Does Daddy Warbucks pay your tuition, then?"

Despite himself, Blaine made a face.

"You're right," Jesse suddenly said, his brow crinkling as well. "That did _not _sound right – and not just because I was referencing a painfully overrated musical."

Again, despite himself, Blaine actually _snorted._

"We're just not very close," he replied after a moment. "My extended family is on another side of the country, but they'd might as well be living on a different planet."

"I presume that the guy with the eyebrows…"

"My dad," Blaine finished with a chuckle. "He's a surgeon, so he's always working." With a little shrug, he added, "We don't really have time for Kodak moments."

Jesse's lips twitched into a smile as he nodded. Again, he picked up the photograph, looking at it as if he were studying carefully.

"Is your mom just as photogenic?" he asked lightly, lifting his eyes with a smile that (Blaine guessed) could only be one to lighten the mood.

So much for that.

"I wouldn't know."

Jesse's brows pulled together. "Is she…"

"She left," Blaine corrected, his words more casual than they should have been. "I don't really know what happened, but she split when I was a baby."

A frown. "How do you _not_ know what happened?"

Blaine shrugged. "My dad doesn't talk about her."

"Doesn't that bother you? Not knowing, I mean."

Instantly, Blaine's brow furrowed; no one had ever asked him that before. Usually, when he mentioned his mom, the other person just said that they were sorry (though they had nothing to apologize for) and that it was "her loss." The subject was always changed after that, like no one wanted to talk because they had no idea what else to say. People did that when they became uncomfortable, Blaine had noticed. The same thing happened whenever Blaine explained how he ended up at Dalton; people had the tendency to just throw empty apologies when they were told that someone got beat up or that their mom bailed. It was like they felt the need to walk on eggshells around him, because he suddenly appeared fragile, once he'd revealed a sensitive subject. Whether it was because they didn't want to open a can of worms or because they simply didn't care to hear a "sob story," Blaine would never know… but he'd never once had someone say something more than, "I'm sorry to hear it."

Jesse, though… he didn't do that. It was the first time that someone's reaction seemed genuine – maybe even like he _cared _about how the whole thing made Blaine feel. He wasn't about to tell Jesse that, but it was kind of nice, actually. Talking about his mother wasn't, but seeing someone brave enough to ask certainly was. The gesture didn't go unappreciated, suffice to say, especially considering how long they'd known each other (read: not very).

Though, the fact still remained that Blaine _hadn't _done much thinking about how his mother's absence made him feel, both because no one had ever cared to make him talk about it, and because Blaine's natural instinct was to avoid painful things. Blaine had the habit of boxing away his negative feelings, and his mother's abandonment was no exception; just like Blaine ran away to avoid dealing with his bullies, he ran away from everything regarding his mother. Honestly, it must have run in the family, considering the way that his father never talked about his ex-wife. It was because of his dad that Blaine didn't want to think about his mom, actually; he learned from a very young age that she was someone not to be spoken of, someone who he never dare to bring up, in fear that he'd be unable to re-bandage the wound that he'd open. So, Blaine acted as if he didn't have a mother – as if he'd _never_ had one – because he couldn't be hurt by someone that never existed. At least, that's how he rationalized all the silence.

It was why Blaine – despite how touched he was by Jesse's concern – actually _bristled _at the question, after furrowing his brows in the initial shock.

"No," he said, looking up at Jesse with what could only be described as a defiant expression, like a child who was asked a question they didn't like. "She didn't care enough to stick around; that's all I need to know."

Jesse regarded him with a frown. "If you don't know what happened, how can you be sure that she di-"

"Can we not talk about it?"

Blaine didn't even let Jesse finish that thought, because he really didn't want to hear it; he didn't need to hear, "but you don't know for sure," because he didn't need to have any more questions. Assuming that she didn't care was easy. It was safe. It hurt, but it made her disappearance an easily solved equation without any variables or questions or conflict. Blaine didn't want to wonder if maybe there was more to the story, because he couldn't bare the idea of wondering what it could be. He didn't like imagining that there was a grand explanation that his father was neglecting to tell him, that his mother had a reason and that, maybe, this didn't have to hurt this much at all. Blaine liked things to be patched up in a box with a little bow on the top, not left uncapped and sitting out in the open, where he'd occasionally be tempted to peek into them again. To be honest, he much preferred thinking that his mother simply didn't care, as opposed to wondering if she was out there somewhere with a story that had yet to be told.

If he knew he'd never have answers, he sure as hell didn't want to start posing questions.

So, the only truth he thought he knew was the only truth he wanted to accept.

"I'm sorry," he tacked on. "It's just… a sore subject."

Jesse seemed to hesitate, but he eventually said, "Okay," and let the subject drop.

For a moment, things actually felt awkward, but then Jesse suddenly extended a hand, like he wanted to help Blaine to his feet. "Come on," he said. "You look like you could use some food that _isn't _handed out at a cafeteria." Blaine shot him a wary look and Jesse added, "I'm buying."

"In that case," Blaine said, taking his hand, "I'm in no position to refuse."

And though Jesse didn't bring it up again that afternoon, Blaine couldn't shake the subject of his mother from his head. He'd never let himself dwell on his questions for long, but it seemed that Jesse had lit a spark.

Blaine couldn't help but wonder just how long it'd be before something burnt to the ground.


End file.
